Page 2 of The Assassin's Captive
"Adopted. Raised by academics—no siblings, no romantic entanglements that we're aware of. She's built her life around her work, which makes her isolated. Isolation makes her desperate for connection, even if she doesn't realize it."
The profile builds itself in my mind. Serena Barone is a woman who has defined herself through achievement, who has traded personal relationships for professional success. She's hungry for connection she can't name, vulnerable to the right kind of attention from the right kind of man. Tomorrow night, at the opera house, she'll meet someone who seems to understand her, who appreciates her intelligence and doesn't feel threatened by her strength.
She'll never suspect that her perfect match is her executioner.
I flip through more photographs, studying the details that will help me become whoever she needs me to be. Serena entering a small cafe near the courthouse, ordering the same espresso every morning at eight fifteen. Serena at her neighborhood gym, running on the treadmill trying to outrun her thoughts. Serena at the market, selecting too much produce for someone who lives alone and cooks for one.
I close the folder, feeling the responsibility of what's been asked of me. Seducing Serena Barone isn't about extracting information—it's about identifying and eliminating a network of enemies who've been working in shadows, building their case with patience.
"The opera house tomorrow night," I say, already planning the approach. "She'll be relaxed, off guard. Art makes people vulnerable, opens them up to connection."
Emilio nods, the decision made, the course set. "Make her feel special, Lorenzo. Make her feel she's found someone who sees her for who she really is. And then, when she trusts youcompletely, take everything she knows and send her to meet her maker."
I stand, folder in hand, the responsibility of Serena Barone's fate settling into my chest. Another assignment, another target, another problem to be solved with carefully applied violence. The work is familiar, even if the methods are different. By the end of the week, she'll have told me everything she knows about the Costa syndicate's vulnerabilities, and then she'll disappear into the kind of grave that never gets found.
"Consider it done," I say, moving toward the door.
"Lorenzo." Emilio's voice stops me at the threshold. "She's a woman who has spent her life believing in justice, in the power of law to protect the innocent. That belief makes her dangerous, but it also makes her vulnerable. Use her idealism against her. Make her think she's found someone who shares her principles."
I turn back, meeting his eyes one final time. "She'll never see it coming."
"No," he agrees, raising his glass in a toast to the dead. "She won't."
The walk through the estate's corridors feels different tonight, charged with the electricity of impending violence. The portraits of dead men seem to watch with approval, their eyes following my progress through halls that have witnessed countless decisions about life and death. The Costa family has survived for generations by making hard choices, by eliminating threats before they could metastasize into existential dangers.
Serena Barone has become such a threat, and tomorrow night, her elimination begins.
I reach my car, a black sedan that blends into Rome's traffic with unremarkable anonymity. The folder rests on the passenger seat as I drive through the hills toward the city, its contents burning with the promise of violence to come. By the time I reach my apartment, I've already begun the transformation fromLorenzo the assassin to Lorenzo the gentleman, the kind of man who would catch a prosecutor's eye at the opera house.
The preparation will take hours. New clothes, new identity, new personality carefully constructed to appeal to a woman who has spent her life surrounded by corruption and violence but has never been touched by either. She'll see what she wants to see—a cultured man who appreciates art, who finds her intelligence attractive, who might be worth the risk of lowering her guard.
She'll never suspect that her perfect match is her executioner.
I park in the underground garage of my building, taking the stairs to the third floor where my apartment waits in darkness. The space is Spartanly furnished, functional rather than comfortable. Books line the walls—not because I love literature, but because cultured men are supposed to own books. Art covers the walls—not because I appreciate beauty, but because sensitive souls are supposed to surround themselves with creativity.
Everything in my life is a construction, a careful façade designed to serve whatever purpose the job requires. Tomorrow night, I'll become someone Serena Barone could fall in love with, someone who could earn her trust and exploit her loneliness. I'll be charming, intelligent, slightly mysterious. I'll ask the right questions, make the right observations, present myself as the answer to needs she doesn't even know she has.
The process of transformation is methodical, automatic. I select a charcoal suit and tie that suggests sophistication without pretension. I choose cologne that whispers rather than shouts, shoes that are expensive but not flashy. Every detail is calculated to create the impression of a man worth knowing, worth trusting, worth loving.
By the time I'm finished, Lorenzo the assassin has disappeared, replaced by someone who could move through Serena's world without raising suspicion. I study myself in themirror, seeing not the man who has killed dozens of enemies but the man who will seduce one brilliant prosecutor into revealing everything she knows before she dies.
The opera house tomorrow night will be full of people who believe in civilization, who trust in the power of art and culture to elevate the human spirit. They'll sit in their expensive seats, lose themselves in the music and drama, never suspecting that death walks among them in a tailored suit and expensive shoes.
Serena Barone will be one of them, vulnerable and unsuspecting, ready to be charmed by a stranger who seems to understand her passion for justice. She'll see kindness where there is calculation, sincerity where there is manipulation, love where there is only the cold promise of elimination.
The irony is exquisite. She's spent her career hunting monsters, never realizing that the greatest monster of all would come to her disguised as salvation. Tomorrow night, at the opera house, the predator and prey will meet. And only one of us will walk away alive.
2
SERENA
The velvet curtain rises on the first act ofLa Traviata, and I let myself sink into the plush red seat, my shoulders finally releasing the tension they've carried all week. The Rome Opera House holds its breath as Rosaria's voice soars through the gilded theater, each note a temporary reprieve from the sealed motions and witness depositions that have consumed my last seventy-two hours.
I chose the middle section deliberately—close enough to see the emotion on the performers' faces, far enough back to avoid the socialites who frequent the front rows. My black dress is simple, understated, the kind that won't draw attention when I slip out before the final bow. Tonight isn't about networking or being seen. Tonight is about silence and music and letting my mind reset before tomorrow's hearing.
The aria builds, and I close my eyes, letting Violetta's tragedy wash over me. In the darkness behind my lids, I can almost forget about the anonymous tip that came in yesterday, the one suggesting corruption in the very court system I've spent my career fighting to clean. I can almost forget about the feeling that someone has been watching my office building, the sense thatmy carefully constructed cases are being monitored by people who shouldn't know they exist.
Almost.
